


in the thick of the wood

by days4daisy



Category: The Huntsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Curse Breaking, Curses, Extra Treat, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29120688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: In a clearing between tangled trees, the Huntsman finds not Snow White but a wolf.
Relationships: The Huntsman/Snow White (The Huntsman)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	in the thick of the wood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Othalla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Othalla/gifts).



> I hope you have a wonderful Chocolate Box, Othalla!

In a clearing between tangled trees, the Huntsman finds not Snow White but a wolf. His calls for the princess catch behind clenched teeth. The wolf stands alert across a stretch of snow. Footsteps mar the space between them, that of the animal but also human boots. The Queen’s guards? Snow White herself?

In days not long past, the Huntsman’s hand would not have hesitated at the sight of such a proud beast. But the wolf’s unusual color gives him pause. Its fur is white as winter, a blanket of untarnished snow pure and cold as the north.

“No,” he says to William, hand raised to stay his sword. The Duke’s son stands stiff at his side, unconvinced but still. Finally, with a huff, he relents and shoves his blade back into its leather sheath.

It has been only days since the princess entered the Huntsman's life, but the short time has changed him. With Snow White, the Huntsman has heard the whistle of fairies. He's seen the Lord of the Forest stand before him, prouder than the mightiest stag. For all he knows, the wolf has traveled here on the same quest as they. Drawn to the princess as so many living beings are. Or the Huntsman has gone mad, he thinks with a wry smile. He fastens his ax to his back and turns to William. “Gather the men and search the area. I’ll head out along the perimeter and circle back to you.”

William’s disbelieving protests sit tight on his tongue. But he does not loose them, laughing instead with a skeptical look at the beast. “May your new companion treat you with more favor than most who venture into these woods.” He pats the Huntsman’s shoulder; more concern shows from his hand than his words. The Huntsman smirks at his retreating back. He’s unsure when he began to actually like the Duke’s son.

The silence feels grander with the eyes of a predator locked on his. “I’m asking you not to make a fool of me,” the Huntsman deadpans. “My reputation with royalty already stands on thin ice.” Cautious, he steps forward, empty hands open to show he means no harm. “It’s true, isn’t it? You hail from the same magic place as the Forest King. Snow White has drawn you here.”

He receives no response from the wolf, save a cocked head and black, beaded stare. Tension lines the beast’s strong body, haunches locked as if ready to spring. But the wolf’s ears do not flatten, and no warning growl rumbles from its throat. It seems as promising a result as any.

“I mean her no harm,” the Huntsman says. “Beyond a right tongue lashing for wandering off.” He smiles but doesn’t feel it. Traipsing from camp with all the danger that lies afoot does not feel right for the princess. Her steps until now have been measured - unpredictable at times, but true. This absence feels wrong, colder than the winter air around them.

The wolf grunts at his empty threat. To his surprise, the beast sits, tension bleeding from its mighty body.

“That’s very good,” the Huntsman breathes. For all he has seen from the north to the south, it is still a rather unbelievable thing to stand this close to a wolf. Especially one with color as unusual as this one.

He was never one for magic or folktales. The Queen’s dark power is, of course, without question. He’s known others like Ravenna, memories of Freya and his first dead love lingering like a bitter taste. But before Snow White, he did not believe magic had the ability to be good. Corruption was in its nature, meant for one’s selfish power or ideals. If magic could be good, how had it let the land fall to such ruin?

Now, though, dangerous thoughts plague his mind. Thoughts of belief and the end of this land-decaying winter.

It is belief that finds the Huntsman on his knees before the wolf. Belief or stupidity, his face vulnerable before the mighty jaws of the beast. It looks upon him, black eyes unknowable beyond their intensity. The Huntsman holds his breath and waits. For death, perhaps, and a chance to see the princess again one day. To hold her fair hand in his and tell her how sorry he is for failing her when she needed him most.

The wolf steps before him, graceful padding strides across the snow. It ducks its face close and buries its muzzle in his shoulder.

Shock belts a laugh from him, loud enough to make the wolf raise its head in alarm. “No, no,” the Huntsman soothes. "You startled me, that's all." He rests a hand on the wolf’s head; somehow he does not lose a single finger. The wolf sits still for his stroke, the flick of an ear betraying its enjoyment. “Were you tame in another life, I wonder?” The wolf’s fur is softer than one would expect for a wild animal that has never known care outside its own kind.

Resolved, the Huntsman sets a hand between the wolf’s strong shoulders. “Will you help me?” he asks. The wolf whines in response. Its front paws press up on the Huntsman’s knees.

“You will,” the Huntsman decides, smiling. “I’ll be in your debt, my friend. If ever my kind can hope to repay such a thing.” He stands and brushes the snow from his trousers. “Lead on, then.”

The wolf twists to look at him, blinking slowly. It does not move. The Huntsman returns its gaze, frowning. “Or...perhaps I’ll lead?” He takes a few steps, then pauses and waits.

The wolf stares at him. Then, it huffs and sulks slowly behind. An odd reaction, but it makes the Huntsman laugh. “You’re like her a bit, you know,” he says. “Come on then.” And he starts off in earnest, the wolf trailing him by a step.

***

Further away from camp, a heavier chill clings to the air. It’s odd. The Huntsman would have expected warmth closer to the perimeter of the forest. Nearing the edge of the tree line, the thickest brush should give way to more sky and sun from above. But gray clouds cover what shine should have awaited them.

The wolf keeps up a good pace but never pushes the Huntsman beyond his limits. It keeps to his side, walking in stride next to him. A marvel for a beast to stay so close to a human. The Huntsman wonders at the nature of magic. Or is it true that this wolf once belonged to someone? Tamed and capable of understanding man’s logic in a way others of its species cannot.

Whatever the reason, the Huntsman finds himself glad of the company. After all he’s seen and done in his life, fear does not come to him easily. But foreboding sinks his shoulders now as he tries to track faint footpaths in the snow. Could it have snowed in this one area of the wood? Not enough time has passed for prints on the forest floor to be as covered as they are.

“What’s the one thing she shouldn’t have done? Wander off. So what’s the one thing she does?” The Huntsman trails off, but not early enough to avoid an unhappy grunt from the beast. At the huff of displeasure, the Huntsman can’t help a smile. “You’re right, of course. You’re here for her benefit, not for me. Apologies.”

His mirth dims, and the cold seeps through his clothes. “I never should have slept,” he mumbles. “We should have taken turns, William and I. The danger in this forest is too great, even in numbers. She never should have been out of our sights. What if she didn’t wander off? What if they took her against her will from camp? As I snored through her peril like a fool.”

His boots make an angry crunching sound across the ground. He finds the wolf looking up at him. It has no opinion to offer, padding at his side in silence.

The Huntsman nods. It’s not as if the beast understands him, but from its patient gaze the Huntsman finds a release for his anger. There will be time later to bemoan what he should have done. First, he will find Snow White and bring her back to camp.

“She’s out there,” the Huntsman assures the wolf. “We will find her, you and I. I know we will.”

The wolf whines and nudges his leg. Chuckling, the Huntsman pauses to rub its furry head. Its coat is downy and soft, like sheep’s wool under his fingers. The wolf gazes up at him, black eyes somehow mournful in the dim grayness of the wood.

The beast tenses without warning and stares straight ahead. The Huntsman draws his ax without hesitation. Taut and ready, he squints into the distance. The light has all but died, leaving blackness that would signal night if the Huntsman did not know better. A low fog begins to weave between the trees. None know this terrain better than he, but even the Huntsman feels out of sorts. They should be right at the edge of the woods, but the trees somehow spread thicker than ever. Could he have gotten turned around somehow? It’s impossible. The Huntsman has failed at many things in his life, but he has never and will never doubt his instincts in the wild. His senses serve him well and have kept him alive on more than one occasion.

The Huntsman lays a hand on the wolf’s head. Not wise, perhaps, with the beast anxious, but the wolf never once snaps at his fingers. “I don’t know what foul magic this is,” the Huntsman mutters, though he can hazard many guesses. “But you don’t have to face it with me. You’ve been a fine guide, but your kin have suffered much already thanks to the evil that followed us here. I would not wish the same upon you.”

The wolf growls. It stays under his hand, glaring into the darkness. The Huntsman scratches the tuft of its neck. Truth be told, the wolf’s insistence strengthens his resolve. Ax at the ready, the Huntsman proceeds into the fog.

The darkness closes fast, unlike any storm the Huntsman has known. He has to squint through the thickening fog to see beyond the stretch of his ax. His lungs burn from the four air, and he wishes for a damp cloth to blot the sting from his eyes. But the Huntsman will not turn back. The princess would not cower from such evil, and neither will he.

The wolf presses close, a weight against his leg with every step. Its body tenses with resolve; it wants to run but will not. The Huntsman is glad for it.

A few paces ahead, the fog eases, a ring clearing where the trees give way to a hollow opening. The Huntsman cannot make out the sky above; has night fallen? He cannot see the sun or stars between the gaping branches.

There are things lying in the center of the clearing. Garments. The Huntsman scrambles ahead, throat tight and disbelieving. Brown slacks. Brown boots. A long corset top and gray under-blouse. And a half-eaten apple shriveled and gray like everything else in these woods.

The Huntsman scours the area. No footprints, but how? Why do the footprints end? There is no blood in the snow, but the ground fall is heavier, his boots nearly covered with white.

“Princess!” he shouts. His fear doesn’t register until he hears it in his own voice. “Snow White, answer me!”

Nothing. No princess. No Evil Queen. No soulless henchmen or vile brother risen from the dead. The Huntsman sinks to his knees and touches the gray under-blouse. Cold, as if it has been sitting in the chill for days.

“Please.” The Huntsman’s entreat is quiet this time. “Answer me, please.” He sees Sara struck down before his eyes. And he sees Snow White mere hours ago, smiling before she laid her head down for sleep. Trusting him to ensure she would be alive come morning.

They stripped her of her clothes. It wasn’t enough to take her. To kill her if that’s what they’ve done. They stripped a princess, a woman as full of life as pride. Left her clothes trampled on the ground like trash. His red-knuckled fingers twitch over the garments.

The wolf whines and paws at his leg; its black eyes seem to shine even in this monstrous darkness. “She trusted me,” the Huntsman says, every word punched raw. “I’ve failed her.”

Time must pass, but he doesn’t feel it. The cold seeps through his clothes. He shivers in the snow, but winter is nothing next to the ice pitted in his stomach. His hand remains twitching in the folds of Snow White’s garments. He thinks of the fear she must have felt. The anger. The betrayal, plucked away while her protectors slept unaware at their warm campsite. He wonders if she’s dead already, or if the Queen will parade her out. Make a spectacle of the last goodness that exists in her damn shade of a kingdom.

The Huntsman kneels in the snow until he goes numb. He must cry because his face grows cold and wet, but he does not recall the tears. It’s only the wolf who makes him move, whimpering and nudging his chest with its long, graceful snout. As if he’s worth the concern of a creature so magnificent.

The moment returns to him; he tosses his head back and screams. The wolf startles back, perched paces away in the snow. Around him, the trees seem to swallow the sound. No one hears the Huntsman, he has no doubt. This part of the brush is evil itself, devouring pain and fury with a greedy mouth.

The Huntsman wipes his lips on his sleeve. His limbs ache and his shoulders feel heavy and sore. He turns to the wolf. “I’ve failed us both. Leave me here.”

The wolf looks at him, silent and judging. After a quiet moment, it approaches and nudges its way under the Huntsman’s arm.

The Huntsman’s chuckle shakes with sadness. “You’re a good girl,” he says. The weight of his failure pushes on his chest. It hurts, and he lets it, tucking his face to the wolf’s fur. The beast allows him, standing still, letting him hold it in the snow. “She’s lost because of me. I was careless, I… What can I do now? What’s left?”

He knows then, with the clarity of spring water on a warm day as a young child. He must return to Ravenna's stronghold, and he will strike her down or die in return. The latter seems most likely. So be it if it means he’ll be reunited with the princess all the faster. He'll fall on his knees before her and beg forgiveness for his slight.

Calm overtakes the Huntsman. His fate is sealed, and he welcomes it. The journey has been long. The Huntsman is glad for its end.

He hugs the wolf to his chest. “Forgive me,” he says to its fur, “but I have a final task for you, friend. Return to the Duke’s son. William. Lead him and our party away from Ravenna’s walls. Do not bring them to me. Take them far away.”

The wolf paws at his chest. Its whine is long and anxious as it scrapes at his clothes.

The Huntsman laughs, and though tears thicken the sound he feels happy. “She would have disapproved too. You truly are like her. Thank you for bearing this with me.” He bows to kiss the top of the wolf’s head, and he feels grateful even in grief. The princess has changed him. With this final task, he will not fail her again.

Rising, the Huntsman straps his ax to his back. He takes a breath of resolve. Remembering the wolf’s weight at his side, he turns to bid his final farewell.

His world stops at the sight of the princess on her knees in the snow. She clutches her garments to her pale skin, but she does not tremble as he did at the cold. Her eyes were already on him and remain when their gazes meet.

It is within Ravenna’s power to create a mirage, of course. To make the Huntsman’s yearning appear before his desperate eyes. But no, he knows it immediately. This is no ruse. It’s her, alive and well. Kneeling in the place where the loyal wolf once sat.

The threads tie together and form a bow in his mind. “How?” he croaks.

“The apple was cursed,” she says. The princess rises from the snow, long and unblemished. She is not demure as she draws her under-blouse over her head or peels her trousers back over her nakedness. But she does peek at him as she laces her top to ensure that he is still watching. He is, though too in awe to enjoy the gift she’s just granted him.

“I thought I lost you,” the Huntsman manages.

Fully dressed, the princess crosses the snow to him. The sound of her familiar footsteps sets his heart at ease.

Snow White takes his hands between hers. Somehow, his is the skin that feels cold. “You didn’t,” she tells him. “You _won’t_.” The Huntsman believes her. Her eyes are firm and truthful, and he believes her with every ounce of hope left in his jaded heart.

“And I won’t lose you,” Snow White says. Her voice takes on a different tone. She knows what he was prepared to do in his grief.

The Huntsman smiles. “I knew you would disapprove,” he says.

She shakes her head, mouth tight with displeasure. It is a beautiful look on her, as every one is. He kisses her before he knows he means to. His heart is too full to abstain.

Snow White returns his affection, mouth coaxed to softness. Her slender fingers curl in his clothes. It’s the first time he accepts the strength of the desire he’s harbored for her. The Huntsman would not have thought it possible, not after Sara or failing time and again since.

But Snow White fits into the curl of his arms. He’ll stay by her side, he knows now, for as long as she will have him.

When they part, Snow White’s eyes are warm with pleasure. “We should get back to the others,” she says.

The Huntsman nods and takes her hand. It’s a journey they will start and finish together.


End file.
